


hold still right before we crash ('cause we both know how this ends)

by Lefauxlucifer



Series: i wonder if your therapist knows (everything about me) [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Denial of Feelings, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Trans Female Character, edelgard just hurry up and put a ring on it i'm begging you, implied enemies to fuckbuddies to lovers, light praise/degradation, mentions of bdsm elements, rated E for EMOTIONS, there's a plot (you have to squint)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27337171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lefauxlucifer/pseuds/Lefauxlucifer
Summary: “And next, you'll tell me the earth is flat. Your point?” Edelgard politely asks before rolling her eyes. She must be truly psychotic, to forgo learning about the intricacies of horizontal and vertical integration forthis.“You like me,” Hilda tells her matter-of-factly. "More than you let on. And don't even try to deny it. You might treat me like some cheap fucktoy, but I've seen how you look at me once you've come back to your senses.”or: Hilda notices that her roommate is stressed out of her mind in the two weeks before finals, and (being the saint that she is) goes out of her way to lend a helping hand.Because it's been three years, and despite Hilda's best efforts, Edelgard still hates her.Or at least, she stillpretendsto.
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Series: i wonder if your therapist knows (everything about me) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2113494
Comments: 6
Kudos: 60





	hold still right before we crash ('cause we both know how this ends)

**Author's Note:**

> convinced that god stays in heaven because he, too, lives in fear of what he's created.

With a combined total of six hours of sleep over the past four days, Edelgard von Hresvelg is half-awake, and fully regretting it.

But does she have much of a choice?

No.

Because her term paper, the one that's worth 30% of her overall grade in that asinine elective course the administration so graciously tucked away at the tail end of her degree plan?

Is due in t-minus two weeks, and thanks to her snarky professors and their undying devotion to expanding the reach of human suffering, she's been too preoccupied with tackling what some would call an endless backlog of busywork to attend to give it the attention it deserves.

So her blood is more a mix of caffeine and sugar than it is iron. Because it's 8 pm on a Saturday night, and she really just wants to get this over with before she turns into a chronic procrastinator with no future, awful bedhead, and a cultish adherence to the latest fashion trends.

But she's not letting Hilda live rent-free in both her apartment _and_ her head. That girl was never her cup of tea to begin with, and now, she drinks champagne.

So when her roommate emerges from her quarters in a titter, wearing an outfit that she will elect to (charitably) describe as _scandalous_ , it is, for all intents and purposes, not her problem.

Because Edelgard is _different_ , remarkable, and anything less than absolute perfection is a disgrace to everything she holds dear in this world.

And she’s nothing like her tasteless roommate, who would ignore opportunity when it knocks only to drown in hedonistic pleasures.

So Hilda may know how to get herself out of trouble as quickly as she gets herself into it, but does Edelgard care?

She doesn't.

She shouldn't.

And her eyes shouldn't drift from her screen to Hilda's earrings, which are every bit as gaudy and shameless as she is.

Nor should they linger on the swell of her chest, follow the curve of her spine all the way down to her hips. And if there is a goddess, hers is surely a trickster.

But if Hilda thinks that she can be tempted, that Edelgard is going to stop her from going out in something so provocative or get the slightest bit jealous, she couldn’t be more wrong.

So Edelgard will simply cross her legs and hope that any _natural_ reaction to the situation at hand will take care of itself. In the meantime, she'll return to quantifying the effects of steam power on the quality of life in the 1800s. Nine pages in four hours should be child's play for someone of her caliber, even as worn out as she is.

And it almost works.

She's on her 36th or 37th paragraph when she feels someone pushing her legs apart, messily fiddling with the zipper of her slacks. 

Of course.

So Hilda's fingers 'accidentally' brush exactly where she knows she shouldn't go, and Edelgard curses herself for having forgotten the cell number of father's best hitman, but maybe, just maybe, Hilda has a point. Relationships work best when no one wears pants.

Not that Edelgard is backed up, because she isn't. And even if she was, Edelgard has better options. Hilda just happens to be the closest. That's all there is to it.

It's precisely why she resists the urge to look, because Hilda is Hilda, and the sight of her on her knees is quite something, but her gaze is fixed to the screen, this is an affront to everything she stands for, and her sole focus is on this damned history paper.

After roughly two and a half years of this unfortunate cohabitation, she's learned that Hilda is a nightmare dressed like a daydream, and that when given an inch, Hilda will take a mile.

So she doesn't flinch when Hilda's thumbs hook around the waistband of her slacks—she simply angles herself in a way that allows her blasted roommate to slide them clean off. And for the record, she doesn't grit her teeth when Hilda grinds her palm against the silk of her underwear.

Tempting as it is, Edelgard doesn't hold her breath when Hilda takes her into her hands, doesn't let the blood rush to her lower half as Hilda strokes her length not once, but twice.

And her resolve is already running paper thin. She can feel Hilda's _warm_ breath against her base, feel her lips, purposefully _light_ as a feather, and she _looks_.

Though she's aptly rewarded when she does, with the display of herself pressed eagerly onto Hilda's face from base to tip. And now, Hilda is looking at her like she _knows_ , knows that Edelgard _needs_ her more than she'll ever care to let on. Her mind wanders and she blinks fast, as if turning a blind eye to Hilda's indiscretions will do anything but embolden her.

Thankfully, it takes all of three seconds for Edelgard to regain her composure, though that doesn't stop Hilda from flashing her an innocent smile and a _wink_. And heaven forbid, the things she would do to this woman and her insufferable hairstyle. She's half-expecting a halo mockup to appear above her head, but Edelgard is more than happy to get back to work with that meager satisfaction and feign disinterest if it lets her salvage what remains of her 4.0 GPA.

Or she would, but Hilda is beyond help, and the wet kisses she's gently placing all over Edelgard's shaft are impressively indecent. She lets out a groan (to show her clear and present discontent), and part of her wishes she hadn't, because now Hilda is incorrigible and taking her into her mouth, inch by inch.

And she would like to pretend that she isn't thinking about how pretty Hilda would look with her lipstick smudged and her mascara running, she really would. But Edelgard has just made more typos in one sentence than she's made in her life. It's out of sheer self-preservation that Edelgard's hands leave the keyboard and find their way into Hilda's hair.

“Darling,” she growls, because Hilda refuses to go at anything but a snail's pace and even Edelgard, as prudish as she might be, has _needs_.

So yes, she thanks her lucky stars when Hilda frees herself and comes out from underneath the desk, so thankful that she’s even seriously considering turning Hilda into a quivering mess, because this girl is so much more bearable when she can barely speak.

“Out with it, Hilda. What do you want?” Edelgard breaks the silence as her lover straddles her, grinds her hips into her like self-control is a thing of the past.

"What do _I_ want?" Hilda repeats, and Edelgard has to remind herself that she could sooner fit a camel through the eye of a needle than get anything through that dense skull of hers.

"Yes, Hilda. Thank you for confirming that you are not, in fact deaf. Now, if you could just show me that you have greater cognitive abilities than the average doorknob... "

And when Hilda giggles, Edelgard can feel the hair on her forearms stand straight. After all, this girl has never once bothered to appreciate her dry sarcasm, and there's certainly no reason to start now.

No, if anything, Hilda should be pressing her buttons with reckless abandon, because apparently, Edelgard's thinly-veiled attempts at murder are quote-unquote _hot_ , and they happen to be frighteningly compatible vis-à-vis the bedroom. And the couch. The kitchen countertop. Even a park bench (but like the third-floor corridor, that story is off-limits to anyone who doesn't wish to die the most painful of deaths).

So Hilda gets up, and admittedly, that leaves Edelgard confused and _wanting_ (mostly wanting), so she follows suit, not one to take this sitting down.

“It has to get to you, right? You’re like, Edelgard von Hresvelg, scion of the Hresvelg family,” Hilda starts off, and yes, she's actively trying to be nice to this girl, but what she really wants is to slap her upside the head, and no, she won't even try to deny the implications thereof. Hilda once told her she was far more tenacious and dedicated to her craft than any mosquito, and Edelgard is simply a woman of science, bound by her honor to obtain definitive proof of such a high-handed contention.

“They call you the next leader of the modern world. But you're here, all the same. Willingly sharing a bed with someone who is, in your eyes, worth less than the ground you walk on. Some playgirl you turned out to be.”

“Sure. Let's suppose for the briefest of instances, that the world has turned on its head and you're right. Where is this going?”

Because Edelgard hasn’t a clue what she’s on about, only knows that she must indeed be on _something_ (her money’s on cannabis, since Hilda can hardly afford the rest) _._

After all, it's _Hilda_ , and last she checked, she had the self-awareness of an overgrown patch of crabgrass.

“You hate it, don’t you? That I'm the only ray of sunshine in your empty, miserable life?” and it's almost impressive, how wrong she is. As an heiress, Edelgard has had to deal with her fair share of clowns, yes, but apparently, Hilda Valentine Goneril prides herself on being the entire circus.

  
“And next, you'll tell me the earth is flat. Your point?” Edelgard politely asks before rolling her eyes. She must be truly psychotic, to forgo learning about the intricacies of horizontal and vertical integration for this.

“You like me,” Hilda tells her matter-of-factly. "More than you let on. And don't try to deny it. You might treat me like some cheap fucktoy, but I've seen how you look at me once you've come back to your senses.”

At that, Edelgard stiffens.

Because Hilda knows what she's doing, knows how stupidly good she looks with Edelgard's hands wrapped around her throat. She rolls her eyes so hard they might fall out of her skull, but her blood is boiling. And she has half a mind to take her, then and there, but through no fault of her own, she’s learned that Hilda is an unfortunate embarrassment who can barely stand straight after the second round.

But that aside, it's improbable, that Hilda is implying what Edelgard thinks she is.

If that really is the case, she would do well to realize that love is for children, and that Edelgard has no use for someone who sees her for who she is, who treats her like a person first, and the crowning jewel of the Hresvelg family second.

And sure, Hilda has proven helpful when she gets unexpectedly hit on by women of all ages, and no, she's not the worst lay either, but Edelgard can't, for the life of her, explain or understand how this even works, how their extended trial period of living together hasn’t sparked a third world war. Logic dictates that she should have gotten bored of Hilda long before their first time, and certainly after the fifth.

All things considered, Edelgard would rather bleed out to death before viewing Hilda as an option, much less a _choice_.

But here they are, with Hilda's manipulative tendencies in full view, and Edelgard is hardly any better when she doesn't think twice before using this girl to satisfy herself unconditionally (despite having developed an eight-minute presentation on how this girl's personality is by itself enough to trigger her gag reflex, complete with slides and visuals).

She sets Hilda down onto the bed gently (which is more than she deserves), and then, she clears the bed of a dozen stuffed animals and pulls Hilda’s miniskirt off with a flourish, because this girl is beyond hope, and if she must be frank, it wasn’t covering much to begin with.

And like always, she’s wearing _those._

It's just like Hilda, isn’t it? To place a lit match on an open fuse.

Though by now, she assumes that Hilda has multiple pairs of cutesy pink lace, if only to spite her. Edelgard even opines she would look better in literally anything else, but Hilda _loves_ reminding her of their freshman year, of those carefree days when that girl would gripe about how they were unusually difficult to remove, hinting that she would somehow benefit from Edelgard taking a close and personal look.

And Edelgard, sweet, naive, unsuspecting Edelgard, would rush to her aid, blush at the view, and throw caution to the wind if it meant she could have her way with Hilda until Lysithea and Marianne returned from their evening classes (and well into the night, if they took a hint).

It's a mix of that nostalgia and pure instinct that makes Edelgard lean down, keeping her hands taut behind her back for a proper challenge as she removes Hilda's last line of defense with nothing but her teeth.

And when they're off, Hilda looks so _needy_ , goddess, so _wet_ , and Edelgard takes pride in knowing she's the reason why. This girl might be less of a person and more a loose collection of character defects, but Edelgard has never met anyone half as _willing_ as she is, half as _desperate_.

And as an artist of the modern era, Edelgard has every right to treat Hilda as her personal canvas, to taint and sully as she sees fit.

She plants cheeky kisses all over Hilda's inner thighs, and the marks she leaves aren't out of anything as pure as love. They're (at best) a reminder of who she belongs to.

So when Hilda's fingers weave their way into her hair, Edelgard can't help but let her lips _twist_ into a smile.

"Pathetic, aren't we? Has anyone ever told you how _insufferably_ attractive you are when you shut your whore mouth?" she murmurs, admittedly pleased with herself (because if she won't enjoy the fruits of her labors, then who will?).

"It's been mentioned," Hilda grins, and oh, is Edelgard about to _relish_ making her regret mouthing off.

“And if you'd ever keep quiet, you'd find I can speak more than just French between your legs. You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

To her credit, Hilda knows that's an offer she can't refuse. She nods, and when Edelgard's tongue starts at her labia, drags upwards until Hilda lets out a needy whine, it's the most welcome change of pace she's had all day. Hilda may have her wrapped around her little finger, eating out of the palm of her hand, but if Edelgard's being honest?

She wouldn't trade this for the world.

Again, not that Edelgard is particularly fond of Hilda, but she's quite… _responsive_ , and Edelgard would be lying through her teeth if she said it didn't put her on the power trip of the century.

And Hilda likes her best when she’s vindictive and heartless, likes her best when the thin line between pleasure and pain blurs and Edelgard’s nails rake down Hilda's thighs.

Because Hilda's been quite the awful girl as of late, and nothing she's done would warrant something as nice as a reward for good behavior.

And after all, Edelgard wouldn't get her off out of the goodness of her own heart or whatever other half-baked reason Hilda might cook up, and she certainly wouldn't take genuine pleasure in giving Hilda a night to remember.

Because they're barely friends, and this is merely an agreeable exchange between two parties, a transaction at best. Edelgard is only putting effort into this because the key to repeat business is customer satisfaction.

And in fairness, Hilda goes down on her with such an unprecedented veracity that Edelgard would be ashamed if she didn't return the favor in kind. Hilda is simply the most patient and caring paramour she's had to date, and evening the score helps Edelgard sleep at night.

So they're on the same page. When they indulge in aftercare, it's just part of the act, and when they confide in each other, it's because they have no one else to go to, no one else who will listen. And making each other breakfast in the morning is just routine practice for these kinds of relationships. It doesn't mean a thing.

This is, if anything, a simple give and take, where Edelgard's tongue moves in sync with Hilda's hips, messy and imprecise, just the way she likes it, and Hilda's fingers tangle deeper into her hair, even pull, as if to question her skill.

And though Edelgard does find it rather vexing to give in to such flimsy provocation, it wouldn't hurt to turn this show into a demonstration of technique, something Hilda sorely lacks.

But, if nothing else, Hilda does play the part of songbird quite well, with gasps and moans that remind her why they no longer have neighbors.

And when Edelgard flicks her tongue against Hilda's clit, circles it for good measure, that stuck-up brat is saying her name. She's all but won.

“El,” Hilda pleads between gasps, “El, _please_.”

And for whatever godforsaken reason, being called for so _intimately_ like that does things to her, it always has, and now, she's sucking on Hilda's clit in a way she can only describe as downright _licentious_.

And when the angels sing, Edelgard doesn't dare let up, because she's competitive as hell, and Hilda's voice is _rough_ and _hoarse_ , and she would be a fool not to savor this moment for what it was worth.

So Edelgard's victory is absolute.

Until Hilda brings her up, grabs her by the necktie and pulls her in for a kiss that lasts for the better part of a minute and leaves her _weak_ , until Hilda undoes the buttons of her shirt and shrugs it off and takes Edelgard's hands in her own, guides her to the clasp of her bra, because she knows Edelgard has a weakness, and that weakness is Hilda Valentine Goneril.

And she really has to question when they became so familiar with each other. It feels like just yesterday that they were at each other's throats, that Edelgard was planning the finer details of Hilda's funeral, though Edelgard will concede that this is certainly a more… productive method of working out their differences.

It doesn't help that at this angle, there's a healthy amount of friction, and Edelgard can't stop herself from putting it to good use. This is sacrilege, she knows, debauchery of the worst kind, and she can't believe herself. But this isn't even the worst thing they've done together, is it? And Edelgard sincerely doubts it will be the last.

"You've gone soft," Hilda purrs, right into her ear, hands skillfully undoing the buttons of Edelgard’s shirt. “You don't want this? Want me?”

And it's not that Edelgard is easy, or that Hilda is particularly good at seduction, because Edelgard would rather take a swandive off the Golden Gate Bridge than admit to either, even if she has referred to Hilda as her girlfriend on multiple separate occasions.

“I'm going to _hurt_ you,” Edelgard replies, sending a silent prayer to the heavens above that Hilda won't call her bluff.

“Kinky,” she answers, and really, she set herself up for that one, but the whips are in the closet, and the goddess only knows where she put the collar.

"Since you seem to be so...enamoured with your delusions of grandeur, Hilda, I will clarify: I didn't carry you here so I could make love to you. This is me fucking a _filthy_ , undeserving sow until _I'm_ satisfied. And it's none of my concern whether she can walk straight when I'm through with her.

Have I made myself clear?” Edelgard growls, and Hilda has the _audacity_ to bite her lower lip and pout, like she's _asking_ for it, goddess, she _is_.

So Hilda may have the personality of a horde of locusts, but that doesn't stop Edelgard from stripping her naked, because if there's one thing Edelgard is good at, it's deconstructing complex emotions in a way that makes them easy to explain, and filling in the inconsistencies in a way that makes sense.

And she's every bit as cold and calculated when it comes down to it.

So she doesn't feel an ounce of guilt as she presses into Hilda, inch by inch, though she does shudder at how ungodly this feels. Hilda is so warm and tight and after nearly a week of swearing this off, Edelgard _aches_.

And no, she can't think of a single thing she wouldn't do, with Hilda looking at her like she is now.

Which is why Edelgard gives her not a moment's respite, somehow finding it easier to enter her than to leave, and if that didn't make it blatantly obvious that they both wanted this, then nothing will. So Hilda eggs her on, and Edelgard keeps a firm hold on Hilda's hips as she sheathes herself inside this girl more times than she can reasonably count.

And even Edelgard, as chaste and proper as she is, feels her arousal grow at the blasphemous sight of Hilda's...modest chest, as they bounce in a way that makes Edelgard blush like a drunk, inexperienced virgin about to have her first time with a girl who has no concept of personal space, of course, not that Edelgard would know.

So she gets handsy, and the harsher she is, the more incoherent Hilda becomes. Her fingers move over a stiff nipple and she pinches, twists, an expression of her distaste. In response, Hilda's nails dig into her back, her legs wrap around her waist and pull her in close, until she’s hilted herself and her cock is kissing Hilda's deepest places, and that shouldn't turn her on, as stupid and cliche as it is, but Hilda is too soft to the touch, too curvy, and now, Edelgard is fraught with the urge to claim and covet.

It's for her own benefit that she prowls over Hilda's neck, hunting for her pulse point. Her teeth draw out Hilda's voice, and she’s such a good little girl when she needs to be. Hilda must know that what Edelgard wants, she takes.

"Try this again, and I will kick you out," Edelgard informs her, but within the minute, Hilda is back to whispering indecent things into her ear, and goddess, Hilda is so _good_ to her, so _insistent_ that Edelgard is the closest she's ever been to reconsidering her vow against marathon sex .

So when Hilda _clenches_ up around her, Edelgard is made acutely aware of how futile her efforts to stave herself off have been thus far.

When her hands come back to Hilda's waist, it's with a painful finality. She scowls and drives into Hilda harder, faster, upset and mindful of the effect that compounded exhaustion has on her stamina. And she's fairly certain she says Hilda's name more than a few times as those fluttering walls milk her until she's completely spent, until she can hardly feel her lower half, and against her better judgement, she mutters an irreverent 'fuck you' under her breath, a phrase she's sure Hilda will catch and inevitably misconstrue for the three words she's been waiting to hear all night.

But that's not her problem, because Edelgard knows better than to bite the hand that feeds her, and now everything is a fading kind of black, and though she may have won the battle… she can't (in good conscience) say the same of the war.

**Author's Note:**

> i am beyond ashamed and believe me, if i could disappear any faster into the endless void, i would. but this was (admittedly) fun to write and if by some miracle of god, you enjoyed this, please feel free to yell at me. 
> 
> i'll also be lurking [here](https://twitter.com/LeFauxLucifer).


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